


No Fate Seemed Fair as Mine, No Happiness So Great

by butch_snufkin



Category: Jeeves & Wooster, Jeeves - P. G. Wodehouse
Genre: Angst, Confessions, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mutual Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-05
Updated: 2020-04-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:28:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23492449
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/butch_snufkin/pseuds/butch_snufkin
Summary: So goes the tale of the forbidden lovers: with deep admiration and longing for one another, they kept their love in the shadows, never bringing it into light. They were apart, and it would always be so.But perhaps not always.
Relationships: Reginald Jeeves/Bertram "Bertie" Wooster
Comments: 15
Kudos: 116





	No Fate Seemed Fair as Mine, No Happiness So Great

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fill for both belphegor1982 and crookshanks-caught-the-niffler on tumblr. whooo I attempted. please enjoy because this is actually the most emotional thing I've ever written

I'd taken to watching Jeeves at his chores during the day when I could. I refrained from openly staring - no matter how much I wanted to. I was not about to let the Wooster pride go tarnished, and it was glaringly obvious he hated having eyes following him.

I had gotten rather good at flicking my gaze towards him above sheet music and penny detective novels, then looking back down just before he caught me. In some ways, it felt like an extraordinarily clever game. In others, it was like watching out for a boogeyman to strike. I supposed that somewhere, somehow, I still preserved the notion that I greatly admired him as a friend and close associate. I knew mostly that this was simply drivel.

I'd expected it to fade, and even wanted it to - the knowledge that the Bingo Littles and Ginger Winships of the world grew up and married bright young girls and stopped having innocent fun in secluded corridors while I could only stay same as I ever was. Eton was a thing of the past for us all, and I was the only one who seemed troubled by it still. They had a word for it, for chaps who found out they just couldn't chase after girls, even as they met and passed the age where they had ought to be settling down and raising families. Inverts (among other, worse names).

My future, if it was there at all, was dull, and I spent no time thinking of it. Jeeves was my present, and it was too sickening to consider what I'd do when he eventually got down on the one k. for some toothsome filly and bunged off to live a better life without me. I was content to be with him as we were, nothing more and nothing less.

Well, perhaps something more. When it began, I could not say, only that one day I awoke to find him hovering over me, clean and polished with a cup of fresh tea, and I was in perfect awe of him. He was a beacon of handsome intelligence, especially in the white sun. And because of the slamming hangover plaguing me, I vomited all across the sheets before I could even utter out a greeting. The rest is a blur, though I remember being painfully embarrassed and apologizing about a hundred times. In the end I left a few tenners for him on the dresser, promptly abandoning the memory of the ordeal altogether.

After a few months of harmlessly entertaining myself with watching him at work, I sensed things were becoming serious. I could no longer have innocent fun as I'd had with a few boys at school, all of whom I'd forgotten as soon as we were bored of one another and moved on. This sitch with Jeeves was something more, and I hadn't noticed until it was too late to quit it.

A haze overtook me, and I found myself pulling a few reckless stunts that I usually would have never even thought about attempting. Pretending to be more sloshed than I was, all for the sake of hanging off him, was on the more mild side of these. Faking a trip over my walking stick and throwing myself into his arms was a bolder attempt which I never repeated. He caught me easy as anything, although the collision of bodies was messy and my mouth grazed his stubbly jaw, thoroughly scandalizing me enough to last a lifetime.

Then, a burst of doddling schoolgirl passion overtook me one night. My latest trick had been asking Jeeves to button my cuffs for me. He made no protest about it, and I enjoyed the double satisfaction of both having his hands on me and my methods being left unquestioned. I wondered, though, if it was a wise decision. Hanging onto small brushes of skin and that dreaded three inches of empty space always present between our bodies had only left me in want of more. It nearly took the W. breath away to think of having anything beyond even those meager delights.

I pulled a pillow from the bedside and smothered it against the aching h. beating rapidly against ribs that stuck out too far and too sharply to ever be considered attractive. I'd seen him sneaking looks at jutting bones and pale skin while I was in my bath, swimming thoughtfully and with a cheery song alongside an old, faded rubber duck. I pretended not to notice the extra helpings of food piled onto my dinner and luncheon plates afterwards. Could he feel some level of tenderness towards the y.m, or did he want to avoid being seen in public with some lanky object which could have been several plucked chickens poured into a tweed suit? Tears plucked and pricked and did all that nonsense they usually do, although I was helpless to avoid spilling a drop or two. It was cruel to think that I had all this affection and not a bally thing in the world to do with it.

I pulled the pillow up and shoved it over the lemon, willing myself to sleep. I dozed off thinking of dream rabbits and my valet's strong hands perfectly creasing white dress shirts.

I was positively ruined.

I awoke the next sunny morn with a swimmy noggin. Brains were jumbled, hair was disheveled, and no one was less ready to greet the day than I. Jeeves, impeccable as ever, floated in no sooner than I had unstuck the corpus from the mattress. It was torture for him to see me in such a state of disorder, especially considering he was the one whose fault it was in the first place.

He halted a bit when he got a good eyeful of me. "Are you ill, sir? Your face has taken on a distinct pinkish hue." He reached out, clearly to check my temperature, then thought better of it and kept his fingers to himself.

"Pinkish hue" was selling it short. I was so red I could have blended in seamlessly with a grocery cart of ripe tomatoes.

"Yes," I replied against my better judgement. Or any judgement at all, really.

Jeeves straightened up even higher. "I'm sorry to hear that, sir. Would you care for a cold restorative?"

I nodded dumbly and fell back against the pillows, suddenly struck by what I had just done. If Jeeves thought I wasn't up to snuff, he would under no circumstances allow me to leave the flat, or possibly even my own bedroom. I had not yet decided whether I was going to hang around and watch him dust, or if I wanted to spend the whole day out, firmly resisting whatever odd temptations had overtaken me as of late. But it was no matter now.

Jeeves reemerged with the glass in seconds flat. I reached for it, but he skirted around my attempts completely and held the glass to my lips himself, his other fingers tilting the chin up firmly but gently.

I certainly had no objections. He could have given me murky pond water and I would have swallowed every drop.

He let me go and I fell back again, this time overwhelmed by a fog of absolute bliss. There could have been pink and red hearts dancing around the loaf.

"If you would get some more rest, sir, I will prepare something light for you to eat," he was saying. He pulled a blanket up beneath my chin and vanished from the premises.

* * *

I could tell Mr. Wooster had, at one time or another, taken to watching me as I performed my household duties. I never once caught him looking, but I could feel his eyes passing over me, calculating my every movement. If there was a reason for it, I hadn't the slightest inkling of what if might be. I admit I harbored a small fear that he would find a sweet and suitable girl and he would release me from his service in order to marry her. After two years of being in Mr. Wooster's employ, the possibility seemed more distant than ever, though it had a spot reserved in the back of my mind, always making a show of itself whenever it liked.

While I have never wanted anything but to keep Mr. Wooster happy, I felt reluctant to go so far as to endorse a matrimonial bond. I had taken my part in breaking off his countless engagements, not always with his permission. I recall a time when he had his heart set on wooing Miss Roberta Wickham, a sharp and unprofessional young girl. While I doubt I would have taken a liking to her under any circumstances, the idea of seeing Mr. Wooster shackled to such a girl invoked a spot of jealousy.

It was a grand liberty to take, but I had taken note with great interest the way he spoke of her, as if he considered her a friend he might know from his club, or from school.

"Yes, Jeeves," he declared to me one night, adjusting his waistcoat in front of the mirror. "I think Bobbie could be just the ticket for me."

I spoke hardly anything, not completely trusting myself to stay quiet about my own opinions.

"Do you know," he continued as I slipped his dinner jacket over his shoulders. "I haven't been so keen on a girl, Jeeves. But I might really be able to make this work. She's practically like an old chum from Eton." He glanced back at my reflection, looking a bit fearful. "I mean, not to say I consider her a cove, or anything like that."

"No, sir," I replied too harshly. I was already scanning over his words, considering the details. It would be terribly forward to contemplate my employer's romantic interests, especially so to wonder if he may he an invert as well. It was the shy and foolish dreaming of a lonely man, and I put cease to it immediately.

The feudal spirit never left me while I was working, and I distracted myself with every sort of pondering until I could retire to my rooms and allow myself to wonder what it might be like to kiss him as I knotted his tie and adjusted his collar. Between these rose-tinted fantasies were pits of grief. I still felt in my heart pangs of worry, planted by harsh society and left to grow. What a monster I had become, permitting myself to think of corrupting a golden youth such as Mr. Wooster. I had become the type of sodomite whispered about in alleyways and dark rooms, the kind who spread distortion with a wave of his hand, who young boys were kept far away from and told not to become. Perhaps, even, the enlightened sort of man who charmed masses and stood proudly before a cruel court, only to be hauled off to a cold gaol.

These thoughts clouded my mind as I cleaned a glass from the drink vanity quietly. Mr. Wooster had declared himself sick earlier that morning, so I felt no concern that he would enter unexpectedly. Until he did just that.

"Ah, Jeeves?" sounded from behind me, and I turned and he was there, completely dressed. I panicked briefly that I had imagined or dreamt his illness, or that I was seeing things. I dropped the glass in surprise, which bounced onto the carpet and cracked. We both bent to pick up the few shards of glass at once, and when his hand brushed mine accidentally I jerked away as if he had burned me.

He looked at me in concern, then did his best to ease the tension, to no avail. "I'm just going out for a walk, Jeeves." His smile was crooked but kind. "Perhaps you could use one yourself, what? You seem a bit jumpy there, old man." He was not all there himself, I could tell. His hair was still in a dreadful state, like he'd been running his hands through it.

I stood quickly, the glass cradled in my hands, leaving him kneeling on the ground with an air of clear confusion. "I am alright, sir, I was merely lost in thought when you entered. Have a pleasant afternoon." I excused myself quickly from the room, pushed by both the awkwardness between us and the position we had been in, so close to one another.

I was standing still in the middle of the kitchen, barely remembering to breathe. I heard the front door click shut, and I fell into a chair. I thought of how much of myself I'd revealed to him since I'd met him. It was impossible not to be comfortable with him. He refused to honor what was the typical sort of relationship boundaries for masters and servants. I wondered if he had done that with all his previous valets as well.

I sobbed quietly to myself, alone in a house belonging to a man with whom I was most surely in love. I spent all my time learning him, watching and deducting. I knew his possessions, his clothes, the way he sang in the bathtub and how he liked his bacon cooked. I'd memorized his favorite flower, foods, books, and songs, and held them close to my heart. I saw him everywhere I went, in best friends sharing a greeting, in lovers holding hands in the street, in people smiling to themselves as they strolled. Even in the steady beat of poetry and the loops of elegant cursive he was there, almost taunting me. He was joy itself, so alive in a world which too often seemed at death's door.

Even after my tears subsided and silence returned, I stayed sitting, unmoving. I felt I lacked the courage for action.

* * *

I slumped down onto a bench and watched endless pairs shoes dawdle by. I had prepared to run from Jeeves before he could demand I stay home, but it was him who biffed off first. I took the opportunity and bolted out with barely enough time to grab my stick and hat. I lost all speed when I reached the stairs. I might not have been ill as I'd claimed, but I was tired, the ache in my chest slowly climbing up to rest smack in the middle of my forehead. And then there was that incident with the glass. I'd touched him, just barely, and he'd reacted like I was one of the ten lepers. Or was it twelve? I could never remember.

In my heart I knew it wasn't his fault, but all I could think was how disgusted I was with myself. Outside, there were cartfuls of less decent people than Wooster B., but the flat felt removed from the world completely. There, it was just me and Jeeves. Jeeves, and the doddering, aloof master he was paid to serve and share a roof with. After laying in bed for too long, I felt the walls begin to close on me. I sensed an extraordinary amount of tension between us, despite that I knew very well it was one-sided. Jeeves must have thought me an absolute lunatic. I buried my face in my hands and groaned quietly.

I had half a mind to ankle it to the Drones and get smashed, if only I wasn't so distraught. I did not want to speak to anyone, and as tonight was Wednesday night, the club would probably have a fair amount of chaps hanging around. Not to mention, I would eventually have to return home to Jeeves. Whatever conversation took place there, I wanted to be sober for it.

Once I got tired of not being up and doing something, I milled about to a few shops, not going inside any but only looking into the windows, lest I be pursued by a particularly determined store clerk. My mind got away from me somewhere along the way, and I found myself in front of a men's toiletries shop. My feet moved without my permission and dragged me in. I had no idea what I was there for, but it didn't stop me from scanning the rows and rows of bottles and jars of all colors, filled with special shampoos and conditioners and everything in between. It wasn't a particularly oofy place. It was nice, but modest.

I was wandering once more when my eye was caught by a small crystalline cologne bottle. I reached out for it and inspected it. With the thousands of other scents clogging my nostrils, it was a miracle I was able to smell it at all. But as I lifted the bottle to my nose I was met with the unmistakable scent of pure Jeevesishness. I had to clutch at my walking stick for support. Finding this here suddenly added a touch of reality, and I regained my senses instantly.

A friendly young worker, possibly an apprentice, appeared at my elbow. "Can I help you, sir?" He asked with no small amount of excitement.

"Yes," I decided. "Just this is all, thanks." I handed him the bottle, which he took to a register, motioning for me to follow.

"Would you like a box to go with it?" the boy asked, holding up a lovely black velvet case.

My throat tightened a bit. I had no intention of ever giving this to Jeeves. I had none of the details worked out, so for now I figured I would keep it for myself. Not even to use, only to have.

I exited the store minutes later, the velvet box sitting lightly in my pocket. I headed back towards Berkeley Mansions. I had nowhere else to go, and I felt that it would be best if I didn't stay out for long while.

While my resolve was hardened, my stomach twisted tighter and tighter the closer I got. I felt as though I needed to run round the park a few times, but my limbs were too heavy to comply. I was distinctly aware of the odd way I was moving as I walked down the hallways, like every muscle I owned was quarreling with the others.

I opened the door to apartment 3A and dropped my cane and hat in their stand, then turned to see Jeeves sitting on the chesterfield. He was in his green apron and sleeves still, but looking terribly disgruntled, more out of shape than I had ever seen him. I was shaking like a leaf and panting for air, and we were shocked at the sight of one another.

I stood before him (as he had, most unusually, not made to stand) and tried to find my voice. At that point, any voice would have done nicely.

"I'm sorry, Jeeves," I submitted hoarsely. "It seems I've been rather overcome with emotion as of late."

His eyes were rimmed red. I couldn't believe that he would cry. It wasn't right.

"Oh sir," he whispered weakly. "I fear my condition is very much the same."

"Oh," I breathed, suddenly very lightheaded. I crumpled to my knees and dropped the head into his lap, trembling too hard to stand.

He made a broken noise and hunched over me, petting my hair reassuringly. He told me all types of fanciful things, that I was okay and it would be alright. He sounded unsure himself. Clearly I was not the only one he was trying to convince.

I was wracked with tearless sobs, too relieved and afraid to go on. And I was so, very tired. I leaned back onto my heels and stared up at him. Our hands were clasped together, and his were just as powerful as I expected, even in his sorrow.

We were close. And through the uncertainty, there was a degree of understanding. "Jeeves," I whispered, with Herculean effort. "Will you kiss me?"

His grip on me tightened, and that old ache in my heart appeared one more. "Only if you wish it, sir."

I nodded, staring straight into his dark eyes. He didn't move, so I did, pushing myself up to reach him. I managed to rearrange us so that I was on the chesterfield too, almost fully sprawled across him.

He held onto me securely. Kissing him was perhaps the most exquisite feeling I'd ever experienced. I could smell his cologne, the exact same kind that was boxed up in my pocket. But it was different. On him, it smelled like life.

"Jeeves," I'd gasped when we'd broken away. "I'm in love with you." I pressed my face into the side of his neck and melted against him, overcome and slightly embarrassed by my own declaration.

He sprinkled kisses across the side of my head to my ear. "My dear," he sighed sweetly. "I love you."

I did not want to cry, so I didn't, and we held each other tightly, letting silent conversations drift between us. There was still much to be said, countless precautions we would have to take. No one else could possibly know. But I wondered, just then, if we weren't the only two who really needed to know.

* * *

I checked my pocketwatch with a humph and tottered back and forth on my heels. Aunt Agatha was expecting me for a lunch date, where she was to introduce me to some sensible young girl she picked up somewhere so that she could decide whether to cast the matrimonial chains on me. My worries about the evening were few, but my being late to the meal would be sure to bring on the fire-breathing faster than usual.

Jeeves appeared from the other room with a simple cream tie in hand. It had taken him the better part of ten minutes to choose which to don me in, having rejected my blue paisley I had picked up in the market a few days prior. He looped it efficiently about the neck, knotting the knot in the b. of an e. He stared in concentration, tweaking the fabric so it would lay just so. His eyebrows were knit in determination.

He had become free in his expressions and most of his speech, no longer feeling the need to keep up impressions for me. He was dashed handsome, and I might have swooned a bit. His lips twitched up, a gesture still common for him, and leaned forward to press a corking kiss onto me. I hummed into his mouth softly, still enjoying the new feeling.

I pulled away from him and turned to look myself over in the mirror. "What do you think?" I wondered. "Acceptable for an auntly brawl?"

He wrapped his arms around my waist. "Perfect, I think."

**Author's Note:**

> me doing jeeves pov is like: can't shut up about wilde for literally five seconds


End file.
